I did have an opening line, but my cat ate it.
Yeah, so some people did notice me. I'm so proud --sniff-- OK, it's not a movie deal, but it'll do for now. I got me some reviews too! Yay! And I can answer them! Mixed emotions!
the Thirteenth Councilor: Thanks very much! I do know the pain of a story that breaks away from your grip, jumps the fence, rampages around the street, and gives you incredible embarrassment so you can't walk past your English teacher with a straight face.
'Ptolemy's Gate'! I could drop subtle hints to my parents to buy it, but even if they did so, I have no space in my bookshelf for it. As library monitor, I was able to demand the library to get it and put myself first to get it. However, that meant that several irate seniors were bothering me to finish it in a hurry. Did you see that size? Lucky for them I can read at great speed and have a lot of free time. Well, perhaps not, but I made free time for it, damn it.
Yes, Christmas concert in November. For seniors. It's nice to entertain the old folks and have them compliment me on my choice of instrument. Want to know what it is? Recorder. I've had five exams, no less, and I will fight for its inclusion in a class of decent instruments, OK? I've got a treble, and I know how to use it! –Brandishes two-foot woodwind instrument about—
anonymous: I grieve over your inner bleeding. I shall write with zest.
Somebody dubbed :-) (Which is really hard to write with AutoCorrect making it a Wingding thing): Thanks very much. It is my first fanfic that didn't have something to do with an assignment. Not my first written work --smiles innocently--
Thanks a lot guys.
Disclaimer: I own none of the following because I am cheap and they won't fit in my bag: The 'Bartimaeus Trilogy', 'The Wonderful Wizard of Oz' by L. Frank Baum or its movie, 'Alice in Wonderland' by Lewis Carroll, 'The Adventures of Amelia Jane' by Enid Blyton (which I did like), 'Little Red Riding Hood' arranged first by the Grimm Brothers then by concerned parents, 'Streets of London' by Ralph McTell, Trafalgar Square, which is somewhere in London, Buckingham Castle, which is also somewhere in London, The Thames, which is in London, BBC, which is the British Broadcasting Corporation (although I could never guess what them letters stand for), Monty Python (whoo! Genius!), a geology dictionary (it's mum's), 'Crawling' by Linkin Park, any Grecian plays by Greek playwrights and possible a few Roman ones, Women's Liberation by the good (and bad) women of the world, Anne McCaffrey books (they're mum's too), Superman or his quotes, 'Where's Wally?' and his quotes (the 'Justice' line could come from anywhere), restaurant prices in German, the 'Myth' series by Robert Asprin (which is like the 'Bartimaeus Trilogy' with the Nathaniel equivalent having first-person narration and being mentored by the Bartimaeus equivalent without all them fancy talk in a medieval time-frame), Roget's International Thesaurus, a nondescript school dictionary, the Discworld series by Terry Pratchett, Odin or any other member of Norse mythology, Microsoft Word, and computer Hearts. Thank you.
The Council of— oh, never mind.
"So, anyway," said the short-lived minor character of Martha Underwood. "Are you—" she gazed threateningly in the direction of where the Disclaimer Demons had been sent scurrying about a chapter ago, "Are you a good magician, or a bad magician? And are those Magicians too?" she pointed to the sock puppets.
"What?" snapped Kitty, understandably annoyed with this all. A sudden unreasonable tornado, an unfamiliar village constructed by bad taste incarnate, and some unscripted demons, and now somebody was asking her if she was the one thing she despised most in the world?
"Why do you want to know?" she snarled rudely. "And for that matter, why am I here? What is this place? And they're sock puppets, you, you, wedding cake doll!"
The wedding cake— oh, I'm not even going to entertain it. Mrs Underwood smiled benevolently, despite that Kitty looked about ready to launch some very un-magical unfriendly hand signs.
"Well, dear, naturally I must ask whether you are a good magician or a bad magician if you do—" she gestured to what looked like a poorly created life-sized rag-doll "—go around dropping houses on people."
Kitty stared at the figure beneath the house. "That looks like a poorly created life-sized rag-doll," she said.
"Mmm, it does, doesn't it?" agreed Mrs Underwood.
"And that can't be blood. That's tomato sauce," said Kitty, in her conviction safe from realizing she just committed manslaughter.
"I suppose," mused Mrs Underwood. "However there are subtle differences. Tomato sauce is, for one, bright red. Another thing, tomato sauce is thicker. One more thing, tomato sauce comes from tomatoes, and not the broken veins of men."
Kitty took a second look at the house support, er, man, and her certainty started to fade.
"But I find that it is too salty and a little tasteless, so mustard or a bit of relish is a lot— oh, sorry dear, I lost my train of thought," Mrs Underwood apologized, finally coming down. "Anyway, are you a good magician or a bad—" she was interrupted, but thankfully not by the Disclaimer Demons.
"Oh damn, oh damn," Kitty cursed in panic. "The house fell on him!" (Sharp kid, ain't she?) "What will I do?" That last phrase was perhaps OOC for her, but it being a parody of Dorothy's line, please excuse it.
"Dorothy was a wimp!" Kitty cried.
Look, I can't help it. It came from the era where the 'common girl' was a popular character, based on simple innocence and curiosity. Like 'Alice in Wonderland', or --searches through bookshelf-- 'The Adventures of Amelia Jane', or 'Little Red Riding Hood'—
"Excuse me," Mrs Underwood interjects politely. "Amelia Jane was a mischievous brat of a doll, and Little Red Riding Hood was written by the Grimm Brothers on hearsay several centuries ago. They do not fit."
Well sorry! I can't help my discriminating taste!
"Anyway, are you a good magician or a bad magician?" Mrs Underwood repeated patiently.
Kitty should have been born with whiskers and a tail. Both would be on edge at this time. "I am not a magician at all! My name is Kitty, and I've got to get back to London right now! Nick is probably going to blow up a city block if I don't stop him!"
"London?" Mrs Underwood exclaimed.
"Yes? Do you know how to get back there?" Kitty asked urgently, clasping the faces of Mr Tipple and Mr Buttons together.
"London? Lon . . . Don . . . Lee . . . Dee . . ." Mrs Underwood sounded out the name. "Mmm . . . Nope. Never heard of it."
Kitty nearly fell over. "What? Come on, London! Bonny London Town! Magical capital of the world!" she practically spat out the last sentence in distaste.
"Oh, London!" Mrs Underwood exclaimed again. "As in, 'Streets of London', 'Trafalgar Square'? Buckingham Castle? The Thames? BBC? Monty Python?"
"Yes!" said Kitty enthusiastically.
"Nope! Never heard of it!" waved Mrs Underwood. "Anyway, back to the original plot! There is nothing to be done!"
"Then just let me—" Kitty was cut off by the more on-task Mrs Underwood again.
"Who was that guy? Well, she was the Wicked Witch of the— oops, sorry. Can I do that again?" Mrs Underwood signalled to someone out of sight. From there, a small stack of stapled paper was tossed, which she caught in one hand, while fishing out a pair of glasses with another.
"Right . . . Top line is original, right?" she called to offstage. Some confirmation came, so she flicked through.
"OK, I think I've got it. Thanks guys," she tossed the book back, and returned the glasses.
"I don't think this was very well rehearsed," Mr Tipples said.
"No, you're well rehearsed," Mr Buttons snapped back, hurt that he had been ignored so far.
"He was the Malicious Magician of the East," Mrs Underwood explained. "She— whoops— He has held all Munchkins in bondage for many years, making them slave for him all day and night. So, as one would expect, they're pretty happy to be set free by your somewhat questionable steering."
"Are you a Munchkin?" asked Kitty, loathing to sound ignorant, but being in an offensively bright world she had never seen before, you could cut her a little slack.
"No," said Mrs Underwood patiently. "I am their friend, although I live in the land of the north. I was here because a won a free breakfast in one of the inns, but then I noticed this house landing, and those Disclaimer Demon things."
"What are they?"
"Since they're not part of the movie nor book script, I can't comment. By the way, I am the Witch —ahem— Magician of the North."
"Oh, gracious!" cried Dorothy, ahem, Kitty. "Are you a real witch?"
"Magician," corrected Mrs Underwood. "In this reality, yes. But I am a Merciful Magician— oh, don't you love alliteration? — And the people love me." Kitty thought that 'magician' with any positive word in front of it was a contradiction in terms, but held her tongue. "There are only four Magicians in the land of Ahz and two of them, those that live in the North and South, are Merciful Magicians. I ought to know. I'm one. The others that live in the West and East are, indeed Malicious Magicians, but since one has a house on his head, there is only one left. I am not as powerful as the Malicious Magician who ruled here, until you flattened him, or I would've flattened him. Really."
"In London all magicians were evil, cruel, selfish, pitiless, stuck-up, stupid, ugly and smelled bad," said Kitty. There was an explosion of giggles around her.
"What was that?" demanded Kitty.
"Munchkins," shrugged Mrs Underwood.
"What are Munchkins?" asked Mr Tipple.
"What the hell are you talking about, you senile old Barbie doll?" snarled Mr Buttons.
The over-dressed senile old Barbie doll --disapproving glare from Mrs Underwood--answered kindly. "They are the people who live in the land of the East, where the Wicked Witch, sorry, Malicious Magician ruled. Until you flattened him. And only bad magicians are evil, cruel and all that. Now, Munchkins! Everybody out!" The bushes rattled.
"If I see one pantaloon, I will KILL EVERY ONE OF YOU!" screamed Mr Buttons.
"Oh, damn. They're so easy to scare," Mrs Underwood sighed. "It's alright. I know how to convince them."
"Where are the magicians?" Kitty demanded, covering Mr Buttons with a Mr Tipple.
Mrs Underwood wasn't listening. Instead, she got out a small spray bottle, squirted into her mouth, tried an octave of C major --not the most exciting scale, you know. G major is my favourite, that's because F# is easier on recorder than F natural, and for the first grade you can do the arpeggio with one— --fearsome geology dictionary flies out-- OK, OK—tried an octave of C major and began to sing.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are, to meet the young lady, who fell from a star!"
From every clean nook and cranny heads rose cautiously.
"I THINK I SEE TIGHTS!" roared Mr Buttons threateningly. They all retreated.
"Bug— I mean, oh bother," Mrs Underwood rescued herself from raising the rating just a little bit (or at the very least, not being a good role model). "She fell from the sky, she fell very far, and London she says is the name of the star."
"London she said is the name of the star," echoed the Munchkins, lulled by the singing.
"Singing, eh?" snarled Mr Buttons. "Is that what turns you on? OK. CRAWLING IN MY SKIN! THESE WOUNDS, THEY WILL NOT HE-EL! FEAR IS HOW I—"
Kitty walloped the off-key puppet into a nearby tree. "Sorry."
"Tell him I darn socks like him for quilting bees," said Mrs Underwood. "Anyway. She brings you good news, oh, haven't you heard? Well she fell out of London, a miracle occurred!"
Cue somewhat allegro march. The Munchkins, midgets in baby doll outfits, stride out of their hiding places and start to assemble around the Merciful Magician and Revolution member.
"I am not singing," Kitty stated. "I don't get paid enough."
Paid. Right . . .
A mayoral-looking Munchkin dressed in a hat like a tall paper ship and brightly coloured over-sized tailcoat hopped forwards.
"Don't worry, we'll work around it," he whispered behind his hand. Then, he took a breath, and began to sing.
"What happened was no miracle," he sung in a pretty decent falsetto voice. "What happened was just this. The land not all Republican, had an unseasonable low-pressure system, and I'd say the play became, just Grecian. Just then, the magician, upon his doubtful mission, went flying on her broomstick, thumbing for a fusion." Now he reverted to his own, which wasn't all that different. "And, oh, what happened next was supposed to rhyme with 'itch' but I'll say was terrible allusion!"
A line of woman dressed in stereotypical pre-Women's-Liberation fare advanced. "The wind went through a flexion, the house had a communion, and landed on the Magician in the middle of a questionable opinion of democracy for the Mean Magician."
Oh, the damn syllables and feet! I wish I had a chapter skip and subtitles at this point!
"I think it's good considering the circumstances," said Kitty as the Munchkins skipped around repeating the verse.
Really?
"No. But it was a good try anyway," she shrugged.
A fanfare from elsewhere drew attention back on scene. Kitty was blocked one side by a pretty coach that had rolled past out of nervousness, the other by a weird looking fountain, behind by Mrs Underwood and in front by the rabble of Munchkins, so she had no choice but to listen to the horrible AAAA verse.
"We thank you very sweetly,
For doing it so neatly—"
A more macabre Munchkin took over.
"You killed him so completely,
"So we thank you very sweetly." Not at all ashamed that he rhymed 'sweetly' with 'sweetly', he handed over a small bouquet of spring flowers to the unenthusiastic Kitty.
"Is the singing over now?" she asked, tossing the flowers over her shoulder. "Because I really need to—"
"Let the joyous news be spread!" Mrs Underwood disregarded her. "The Malicious Middle-aged Magician is at last, dead."
A band struck up a happy brass selection as each and every Munchkin proved to be trained singers.
"Ding Dong Bang! The Magician is dead! Which middle-aged Magician? That weird Malicious one! Ding Dong Bang, the Malicious Magician is dead!"
"Excuse me!" Kitty tried to call over the third-octave din. "But I really, really want to go back home now!"
"Wake up, you sleepy head!" they shrilled, as if anybody could sleep through this without sedation involving anesthetic and bricks. "Rub your eyes! Get out of bed! Ding Dong Bang, the Malicious Magician is dead!"
At this point the singing became so shrill I couldn't translate, so let's imagine a lot of 'Yo-ho! Yo-ho!' and 'Lah, li, lah!' and 'Boom, bam, boom, boom boom-boom!' (The last one from the spurned Beet-boxers from the country of modern-day Pots of the North-and-a-little-to-the-East) in the background while Kitty is forced to socialize.
Another fanfare sounds and yet another short and fat Munchkin arrives from washing his little hair and squeezing into his tight trousers. From this evidence, we must assume he is of some importance. A mayor perhaps. Or maybe the choreographer.
"As mayor of the Munchkin city," damn. I was hoping to meet the guy that could work a cart through a crowd. "In the county of the Land of Ahz. I welcome you so regally—"
Another impressively dressed Munchkin in purple pops over his shoulder (not very difficult). "But we've got to verify it legally! To see—"
"To see—" the mayor tries to return focus on him.
"If she—"
"If she—"
"Is," the purple Munchkin takes a deep breath, "Morally, ethically—"
"Disposed of?" Kitty tries to finish impatiently.
Another Munchkin joins in, "Spiritually, physically—"
"Deranged?" Mr Buttons snapped.
Yet another, "Positively, absolutely—"
"Well insured?" asked Mr Tipple.
"Undeniably and reliably—"
"GET ON WITH IT!" shouted Kitty and Mr Buttons. Possibly my all-time favourite Monty Python quote. The first one I remembered even when I forgot the movie. Ah, 'Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail'! A moderately exciting storyline, action, laughs, really bad scenery—
--Unanimous cry of "GET ON WITH IT!"--
Right, right.
"Dead!" finished the Munchkins.
"Just how malicious was this magician to survive having a house on his head?" Kitty, and, for that matter, everyone else, wanted to know.
"You'd be surprised," shrugged Mrs Underwood, as a Munchkin in a take of a Munchkin doctor's uniform hurried to investigate the possible corpse. "He's had guns let loose on him, cannons, one of those baseball-pitching machines, a statue on him, everything. He even was attacked by a rabid weasel in his pyjamas. What it was doing in his pyjamas I'll never know." –Cue drum kit—"Badda boom!"
--Rude joke book rain-- OK, OK, I'm sorry!
"As coroner-im—" I don't think there's a profession that examines dead bodies and rhymes properly with 'im', "—I've –something I didn't hear properly—him, I've thoroughly examined him. And he's not only merely dead, he's really, most sincerely of terrible taste."
There are groans from the crowd.
"Larry, we've been through this eleven times!" sighed the purple Munchkin through grit teeth. "Get serious!"
"Sorry, sorry," grinned the coroner-im. "Yep. He's dead all right. He can't go far without his –gory coroner details--."
"Anyway!" the mayor steps forwards. "Then his is a day of independence, for all Munchkins and their descendants! Unless you vote for that John Latham guy, who on top of being most restrictive has false teeth!"
"Damn you Howard!" howled a Munchkin from the crowd. "At least they're more realistic than your wig!"
"YOU GOT SOMETHING TO SAY TO ME!" roared the mayor.
"Calm down Mark," muttered the purple Munchkin.
Mark —whose name was not based on an Australian politician, no way— took a deep breath. "OK. Let the joyous news be spread! The Malicious middle-aged Magician is finally dead!"
Only took a house and a hurricane to do so.
Again, marching and singing. Kitty was only restrained from turning the area into the land of few by Mrs Underwood and the thought that since this country was now indebted to her she could get extra members for the Resistance! Yes! Can I weave a parody, or can I weave a parody?
"Is there another option?" Kitty muttered.
From a brass band that looked and acted more like an army (if they had so many damn people, why didn't they try guerilla warfare?) three other Munchkins arrived dressed in uniforms of a weird translucent colour.
"We represent the Jellybaby Club! The Jellybaby Club! The Jellybaby Club! And in the name of, the Jellybaby Club," they repeated in shrill voices for those short of attention. "We wish to inform you that your roof ended up in our club and it crushed our last president. Thank you."
Then they walked off somewhere, and another three slightly less-weird beings came up in tutus or lumberjack costume. One was wearing a combination of both. Don't ask.
"We represent the Musk Sticks League! The Musk Sticks League! The Musk Sticks League! And in the name of the Musk Sticks League! We wish to welcome you to Munchkin Land!" They handed over another bouquet of flowers, a large cluster of thick musk sticks (ooh, I am so jealous) and a sponge cake.
"It's got a file inside," whispered the tutu-ed and lumberjack-ed Munchkin. "You'll need that if Johnny tries to kidnap you."
"We welcome you to Munchkin land!" sung the crowd. "Fa-la-lala-la la lah!"
"From now on you'll be history!" said the mayor creepily.
"You'll be his—" said the purple Munchkin.
"You'll be his—" said a rival red Munchkin.
"You'll be history," finished the mayor, glaring at them. "And you'll be—"
"SCENE HACK!"
The crowd of Munchkins suddenly shrieked, and did the very wise thing of diving on the ground with their hands over their heads. The Disclaimer Demons screamed into view.
"WE HAVE FOUND THEM!" screamed the female.
"YES!" shouted the male. "USING OUR AWESOME CLICHÉ-FINDING POWERS, WE HAVE—"
"YOU ARE BEGINNING A MONOLOGUE! STOP!" interrupted the female. "ANYWAY! WE HAVE FOUND THEM, EMPLOYER!"
A fug of smoke suddenly erupted from the crowd, and Munchkins came flying out like flies to fruitcake in reverse. As the smoke blew away, a slim figured, beautiful, ravishing, oh-so-desirable—
--Another cry of "GET ON WITH IT" and avalanche of Anne McCaffrey books—
SORRY! Geez, can't I sort of interact with my own story? Yous are so mean . . .
—Oh-so-desirable but nonetheless Malicious Magician appeared. Her hair was long, shiny and chestnut, her eyes as green as the jealousy of a soap-opera character. She was dressed all in black, with a sleeveless mini dress with long shreds on its bottom hem and long black-netted gloves and long socks with calf-high boots with sharp high-heels and black pointy hat. The Disclaimer Demons did a weird, non-clichéd cross between a bow and hop in honour.
Kitty flinched from the terrible paragraph before. The Magician stalked to the store, and inspected the legs of the Magician. The dead one. The live one inspected the dead one's leg. Sorry. If the mercenary had a name other than 'The Mercenary' this would all be easier.
"Who is she?" Kitty asked.
"That first one was the Magician of the East. This one is the Magician of the West. Sorry, I forgot to mention her beforehand. She's worse than the other," explained Mrs Underwood.
"And you tell me that now?" Kitty hissed as the (live) Malicious Magician advanced.
"Who killed my Master's-employee-in-another-dimension?" she hissed. "Who killed the Malicious Magician of the East? Was you, my canon-pairing rival?"
"Eh?" went Kitty. "No! I didn't kill anyone! Well, maybe I did, a little. But it was an accident."
"I'm innocent!" screamed Mr Buttons. "I was framed! I was manipulated! He's the one you want!" he pointed to Mr Tipple. "He's the ringleader!"
"Shut up!" Mrs Underwood snapped. "Back to plot. Don't you want those boots?"
"Huh?" went Jane, turning around. "Ew! They're huge and ugly! And they're on a dead guy!"
"Get the boots," Mrs Underwood repeated.
"No way! You get them!" Jane argued.
"Just get the god damned boots now!" shouted Mrs Underwood.
"OK, OK!" said Jane, storming over to her once co-worker.
Somebody off-scene then fell into the strings pit, then the boots disappeared. The legs blanched, then tried to get up, failed, then attempted to escape under the house by pedaling pathetically.
"What the –coarse word-- is going on?" Jane shouted, spinning around angrily and stalking back up the steps. "The ugly boots are gone and you're smiling like that! What did you do?"
Mrs Underwood only smiled kindly, and pointed to Kitty's feet. Suddenly the boots sprang up her legs, climbing up to half her thigh, then tightened gently and shone a much more acceptable shade of red.
"Holy foliots!" Jane exclaimed. "They look really hot right now! Darn it, give them to me! I've got the perfect handbag to go with them!"
"Sorry," said Mrs Underwood. "This girl's got the perfect knees for this. You get nothing."
"Give them to me," Jane repeated hotly. "Only I know how to use them. It's of no use to a Commoner like her! And my knees are good too!"
"You'd better not give them to her," Mrs Underwood murmured to Kitty. "They must be powerful if she wants them so bad. And don't worry, dear. You just need some more meat on your bones and you'll be as pretty as her."
"You stay out of this, Martha!" snarled Jane. "Or I'll fix you too! I'm an under-appreciated character!"
"Oh?" Mrs Underwood raised her starred wand threateningly. "Well, I'm an obscure, short-lived character, girl. I can whop your butt here. Begone, lest there be another house to fall on you!" The demons shifted uncomfortably.
"Damn," cursed Jane. "The news report did mention about showers of properties. Very well. I'll bide my time. And as for you, my plain adolescent, I may not be able to attend to you as I like right now, but just try to stay out of my way, just try!" The eyes of the Disclaimer Demons twitched in unison.
"I'll get you, my pretty," said Jane Farrar menacingly to Kitty as the demons started tremble. "And you're little sock puppets too!"
The demons lost control. "A RE-MASTERED QUOTE! MUST DESTROY!"
"Oi!" shouted Jane. "Behave, or you won't get your reward!"
"CAN'T FIGHT INSTINCTS!" screamed the female. "MUST DESTROY ALL CLICHÉS!"
"Damn, you can never work with these things," Jane cursed. "Oh well, must make a quick getaway. "Goodbye!" she vanished in a puff of tastefully glittery smoke.
"Hey! What about the—?" Kitty cursed in a less maidenly way, and checked herself for any weapons. "Damn," she said, when her search found none. There is little need for weapons in being a clerk, unless you should come across a nasty stuck-hard letter.
Suddenly, a group of Jellybaby Club members leapt up from the ground, pulling out weapons cleverly concealed in tiny pockets in their brightly coloured uniforms.
"Justice will prevail!" one said, snapping a bullet into his two-metre-long gun on a stand.
"Faster than a speeding bullet, stronger than steel, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound!" said another, strapping on a glove with brass knuckles and an arm guard built on.
"Welcome, Wally Watchers!" said another, strapping on a full body suit made of special material stronger than titanium and lighter than plastic that had inbuilt crossbow and oven.
The demons turned angrily to them, shadows writhing into horrible shapes around their bodies.
"YOU CANNOT BEAT OUR KIND!" shouted the female, streaking past a shell and knocking back the first Jellybaby Club member.
"AS WE ARE RESISTANT TO CLICHÉS!" agreed the male, taking a hit from the glove in the face then slamming down its owner.
"ALTHOUGH THEY ARE ANNOYING!" added the female as she and the male tackled the Munchkin in the body suit.
Now free of any challenges, the demons looked around pitilessly.
"WE HAVE BEATEN ALL OUR FOES!" said the male. "BUT WE WILL NOT LAUGH IN TRIUMPH!"
"INSTEAD, WE WILL DISCUSS RESTAURANT PRICES IN GERMAN!" said the female.
"Stop them!" Kitty hissed, tugging at Mrs Underwood's sleeve.
"Oh, don't worry, dear," said the calm Merciful Magician. "They may be resistant to normal uses of clichés, but not of—"
Another house fell out of the sky, landed directly on the demons.
"—Not of repeated allusions," Mrs Underwood finished. "Ah, a boutique. I think I may need to get another dress, this one makes my ankles look fat."
Kitty just stared at the scene, wondering how someone could have made an insane comedy parody fic out of a deep, insightful and detailed book that used more social irony than pathetic puns and situations.
My feelings are really hurt.
"You've made quite a bad enemy of the Malicious Magician," said Mrs Underwood. "Though where the heck those demons came from I don't know. The sooner you get out of Ahz altogether, the better you'd sleep, my dear."
"Look," sighed Kitty, gritting her teeth. "I would get out of this hallucination if I could, but I don't have a damn clue how! London is nowhere near anywhere this clean! And I can't get back the way I came!"
"Hmm," said Mrs Underwood, thinking. "The only person possibly wise enough to help you is the Great and Wickedly Powerful Awesome And Totally Splendiferous Wizard of Ahz himself. Ahz."
"Aahz?" Kitty repeated anxiously.
"No relation," said Mrs Underwood. "Now he is very good, but also—"
"Huh?"
"Nothing, dear. He is also very—"
"What do you mean, nothing?" Kitty demanded.
"Nothing, nothing. Is also very—"
"You just said something about when I said Aahz!" Kitty exclaimed. "And then you go 'no relation'! What are you meaning?"
"Oh, for Lord's sake!" Mrs Underwood scowled. "It's an allusion. An allusion to another book that has changed this author's life almost equal to the 'Bartimaeus Trilogy'! And generally, allusions are to have no effect on the storyline! Can I go on now?"
"Oh. Sorry."
"Now, the Great Wickedly Powerful Awesome And Totally Splendiferous Wizard lives in the City of . . . of . . . what's a good rock name?"
Now, again, the flow of the story is interrupted by a script check. A couple of backstage hands rush on stage, dressed in non-gothic black, one carrying a copy of the book, the other 'Roget's International Thesaurus', which is a very nice story by the way. It starts, '1. EXISTANCE — NOUNS 1. Existence, subsistence, being; entity, essence; occurrence, presence; life (see 406)—'
--Nondescript School Dictionary spins from offstage, catching the back of my skull--
OWIEE! That hurt!
"OK, there's Agate, Amethyst, no, hey, what about Obsidian!"
--Clicking sound of weapon being cocked-- Just say that again, I dare you.
"Huh?" went all.
Go on. Say it again. Add ebony to it. Then crow. Then ivory, I DARE YOU!
"What about sapphire?" suggested one of the backstage crew not paying attention.
--Sounds likened to: BOOOM! AHHH! HELLLP! NOOOO! HAVE MERCY!--
Any more overused adjectives?
"No, we're good," said the trepid cast.
Good children.
"What about emerald?" Tony, the curtain puller/costume designer specializing in crocheting, put up.
"That was the original name, stupid," said Anna, prompter and the one that uses the hook to drag off over-enthusiastic opening acts.
"Diamond?" suggested Mrs Underwood.
"We're too cheap," replied Anna.
"Tofu?" suggested Tony, who had taken too many lights and sandbags to the head. Anna ignored him.
"Cat's eye?" suggested Kitty, worried she wasn't getting enough lines in the unscripted bit. "You know, to go with Kitty?"
"How about Chrysoprase?" said Tony, whose spasms of intelligence were also attained to sandbags or inhaling wool fumes.
"That sucks!" Mr Buttons put in.
"And have a crime leader troll from Discworld sue us?" shot down Anna.
"Turquoise?" suggested Mrs Underwood.
"Jasper?" went Anna.
"Tiger-Eye?" went Kitty.
"Chicken?" went Tony.
"Silver?" went the poor lad I shot at just before, who when his trauma induced amnesia fades will realize his name is Donald.
"No!" snapped Anna. "We can't have djinn in the story if there's a city made of silver! Besides, it'll heat up, tarnish, and get stolen!"
Not to mention, it is sorta an overused word . . .
"PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!" screamed Donald.
For Odin's sake, we've been ten Microsoft Word pages making two chapters without finishing the second chapter of 'The Wizard of Oz'! Would you please get on with it?
"We can't go nowhere if we haven't decided the name for the city!" Anna said. "If you had planned this just a little better we'd be at the scarecrow chapter now!"
Sorry! Make it pyrite!
"What are you talking about?" demanded Anna. "Stop that Geologist mumbo-jumbo and give us a real name!"
It is a real name! Fool's Gold, you know? Sorta irony, considering how prideful the Wizard is.
"Ah . . . OK," everyone agreed.
Everyone went back to his or her role, except for Donald, who sort of wobbled off in a random direction.
"Anyway," said Mrs Underwood. "He lives in the Pyrite City, which is a long journey from here."
Wait a minute! Pyrite is a metal!
"GET ON WITH IT!" everyone shouts.
OK, OK.
"Did you bring your broomstick? Oh, sorry, stupid question," said Mrs Underwood, quailing under Kitty's ferocious glare. "You'll have to walk. The Munchkins will walk you safely to the border of Munchkin Land."
"That's OK," Kitty sighed. "I can walk fine on my—"
"And remember, dear," said Mrs Underwood, ignoring her again. "Never let those Ruby Boots off your feet for a moment, or you'll be vulnerable to any attack from the Malicious Magician of the West."
"I think I can take care of—" again, Kitty was interrupted when Mrs Underwood seized her head, and kissed her on the forehead.
"Now, it's always best to start at the beginning," said Mrs Underwood, stating the obvious. "And all you do is follow the yellow brick road," with the majestic sweep of her wand, she illustrated a yellow bricked path that started in a spiral, then headed out of the town.
Kitty glanced at Mrs Underwood, then resignedly walked over to the start of the spiral.
"Hey, wait a minute," she paused. "What if I—"
"Don't worry, dear," Mrs Underwood said, kindly. "I will answer all the questions you—"
Suddenly, a small shed slammed into the ground next to her, exploding in a shower of woodchips and fertilizer. Mrs Underwood let out a very un-lady-like curse.
"--Curse word--! This was my best dress! I've got to go change!" without so much as a goodbye, she created another pink bubble, hopped in, then sped away.
Kitty stared after her, then glanced at the Munchkins. It was eerie the way they all stared. She began to cut across the spiral in the direction of the exit out of town, but a Munchkin hopped in front of her.
"Follow the yellow brick road!" it said cheerily.
Kitty smiled nervously, and stepped back on the path.
Another Munchkin popped up.
"Follow the yellow brick road!" it said.
"I-I am," Kitty said, attempting to cut across again.
Another Munchkin jumped in front, and said in a voice that was likely achieved by breathing in a tube of helium then using a synthesizer, "Follow the yellow brick road!"
"Follow the yellow brick road!" said another like the one before.
The crowd drew together again. "Follow the yellow brick road. Follow the yellow brick road. Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow brick road!"
Their sudden advance made Kitty almost leap in the air, but she stopped herself, and took a calming breath—
"Follow the yellow brick, follow the yellow, follow the yellow brick— hey! She missed a loop!"
—Then ran like a hare.
The Munchkins growled a unanimous inhuman growl, then rushed at Kitty. She gave an unintentional squeal of fright (she was ashamed, but then again, those Munchkins were freaky), and raced along the straightening yellow brick road.
"You're off to see the wizard!" cried the Munchkins, catching up pretty quickly on their short legs. "The Wonderful Wizard of Ahz! He really is a wiz of a wiz, if ever a wiz there was!"
Kitty let out a scream as a surge of brightly dressed Munchkins popped out of an alley beside her, and frothed alarmingly at the mouths.
"If ever there ever a wiz there was the Wizard of Ahz is one because—"
The shoes went through a sudden acceleration, then crashed into each other, making Kitty trip into the mass of growling Munchkins.
—The End—
Just kidding. She fought them off the ran even faster amidst the chorus of:
"—Because, because, because, because! Because of the wonderful things he— hey, what does he do again?"
Kitty headed full pelt for the hills then, and just as she passed the fence that marked the end of Munchkin Country, slammed into a flat background.
From the house that landed on the demons, there was thumping at the door. Finally it was blown over by a non-physical force. A boy around his teen years, from the time when there was no such thing as 'teen years', poked his head out and around.
"Aahz?" he said.
"Next time, I'm getting Tania to teach ya control, kid," came a thoroughly annoyed voice from inside. "What, Skeeve?"
A young-looking but nonetheless big dragon slipped out of the front door too, and sat there panting great gusts of bad breath.
"I don't think we're in Klah any more, Gleep."
And that's all for now, folks!
Sorry about the wait. Dad finally fixed the computer, loaded all of Grandma's files on it, brought it to her house . . . then forgot to load up Microsoft Word and was unable to arrange the Internet.
On the plus side, I learned how to play computer Hearts! EVIL QUEEN OF SPADES!
So everything will be somewhat late, but there. Better late then never, right?
Right?
Read and review, please!
